Ambition
by sectumsirius
Summary: Latrell Corvus's entire being was poisonous; Caius Volturi was made out of warfare and fire. And how the fates declared them mates, causing chaos to unravel and clash like marble and alloy, ethereal chaos.
1. Extended Summary

❛ running in the shadows damn  
your love, damn your lies ❜

( _the macabre existence of a king who laughed in malevolence and a god in latin tasting torture_ )

witch. ━ ( EXTENDED SUMMARY )

Latrell Corvus was the perennial body of Hecate, he was poisonous. Dangerous for mortals and immortals alike, a mere glance of him could be enough for a lifelong suffering. He wore sickness and death like a cape; he pervaded the lifeblood of generations to come. His glare sunk into your blood like mercury, leave you choking on your life, he will leave you dying in your mortal mould. Carmine irises flaming in cynical pleasure, his intentions to harm was vigorous, his touch cauterised. Caius Volturi was warfare in the bloodiest form. He fought for his throne, its foundation consisting of the bones of the antagonist, retained by unwavering despondency and martyrdom. The glint within crimson eyes lighted a wildfire, declare mutiny against him and find yourself brutally eradicated. He was vicious and dripping venom and barbarism. He was fire; his subconscious viciously inhumane, his lexis was your downfall. When he opened his mouth, he spits lava. He will cremate you so don't altercate with him. Latrell Corvus's entire being was poisonous; Caius Volturi was made out of warfare and fire. And how the fates declared them mates, causing chaos to unravel and clash like marble and alloy, ethereal chaos.

latin. ━ ( CAST )

reece king as latrell corvus

❛ the black plague was one of my finest works, a true masterpiece ❜

tom webb as hugo corvus

❛ you're not the only one who can deceive people master ❜

jamie campbell bower as caius volturi

❛ you're an insufferable lover but yet you hold my interest, is this a taste of your witchcraft? ❜

( extended cast _!_ )

miles mcmillan as marcus volturi ━ ben barnes as aro volturi ━ nicole zimmermann as amber nieves ━ marlon teixiera as indigo nieves ━ natalie portman as jane volturi ━ lucas jade zumann as alec volturi ━ vito basso as demetri volturi ━ francisco lachowski as felix volturi ━ adelaide kane as isabella swan ━ twilight cast as themselves

evil. ━ ( AUTHORS NOTE & DISCLAIMERS)

━ disclaimers is that i only own latrell, hugo, the deluca's and their backstories etc. i don't own the twilight saga, the original plot etc all of those belong to stephenie meyer. this book will contain mentions of death, violence, sexual content, rape, racism and swearing, please note that if you have any problems with any of these aspects then i advise you not to read this book.


	2. Prologue

There was always a derelict reverence in the way Latrell whispered names and an impious worship in the way his chilling fingers traced scars full of fire and destruction. His soul was adrift and lost to the villainy of time, a mere spirited soul now tarnished and helpless in redemption. Latrell's soul was now unfamiliar and treacherous, that many found themselves forgetting what the adolescent sounded like before the wicked plagued his trembling and broken body. His bruised knees and sliced lips that tasted like demolition and vice, were now a representation of life before the burning. His anguished screams were echoing in their futile minds and decomposing bodies hidden behind fear stricken frowns of melancholy, ash and rubble. They found themselves forgetting what Latrell looked like before his immortal reincarnation, even though his name was burnt into their brains. Twinkling eyes were now overshadowed with a crimson nightmare of disgust and horror while his shimmering smiles were drowned out with the weight and force of venom and impurity.

The myths, legends and legacies that the constellations write don't end happily, they end in blood and ruin and decay. Dreams of redemption and serenity, days tasting of moonshine behind your teeth and in your veins were beginning to be mythic. No longer were the days of sunshine nurturing your soul and well-being, gone were the days of love so empowering that it could overcome destruction of destiny. The area of where fate refuses to dwell now empowers, allowing their wake to beat and imprison all signs of hope and honour in civilisation.

They pleaded for him to cut the ropes that tie them to their impeding destruction, to the war fought between morality and the wickedness of humanity. The cuts on their lips were from biting back everything they swore to behold, they were afraid of his decisions and sense of justice. They feared he would no longer taste of kindness and celestial life but instead of the blood of the innocent, the damned and the sinners.

They don't want to hear the eulogy of the victims; their ears are still ringing from the shrill shell casing sound of their screams of forgiveness and worship. Did it bother Latrell that his heart looked more like a graveyard these days, that they no longer felt delight in the way his eyes trace the scars on their skin or the way his words tasting of Latin could create a masterpiece?

Beauty was held in the eye of the beholder, he found no delight in broken bones, bruised ribs and marrow tasting of sickening jasmine mixed with impurity. Latrell, god of witchcraft and necromancy, no longer kept his Latin taste and icy fingers off their souls and fate.

Tales of an insensate king of the damned who stole the heart and malice of the god who came to him sublime, wine eyes and bloody lips tasting of the ancient language of a civilisation laid to rest in ash and fire. Once an embrace of marble caused a pure soul born adolescent to carve tales of sorrow, peace, anguish and grace upon alabaster skin, reincarnate this bitter king into a better saviour, dismiss the loneliness encompassed in malice enthused personality.

The raw nakedness of want and lust, greedy lips with whimpers of appreciation into blood stained mouths, fingers of similar fever dipping into the curves of marble kissed surface. Latrell fell into his dark and wicked worship, he fell and fell and fell and now Caius was beside him, falling together into uncharted territory.

Now no hands moulded the king's body, least of all, a god's touch. Lips he once worshipped, golden entwined adoration, now taste of curses and the utter darkness of his mottled soul. The king became harsh, the god became terrible. Their love rotted out for endless nights, the king endured the heartache in ruling in acrimony while the god continued in throats coughing up witchcraft, breathing plagues and screaming torment. Immortal lips tell you of the tale of a fool's decision in leaving a complimentary love, not the fool who laughed bitterly and severed the lines that were tangled and knotted, connecting the two bodies.

Latrell was once considered to be a delegation of goodness, peace and gentleness; he was seen to be wholly made up of light and pretty half truths. His hands were once soft but now are calloused, slashed, ruined and tainted with the poison of witchcraft, sunken into marble flesh leaving a canopy of obsidian patterning.

Did every soul his hands touch die, did his ears ring and his head ache with the sound of horror-struck screams and is his throat cracked and dry from whispers of Latin tasting death? Oh, he was once a beacon of light, his image now had been set aflame and was withering under mortal and immortal command and now image of his recovery had become susceptible to mortality.

He became the paradox of a merciful superior, the lines separating wicked and justified were distorted and immune to validation. He once turned his hands to hide the blood, the stains that condemned him to murder, a further violent killer. His scars are a written history; they aren't perennial wounds, the wounds and morals behind each onyx pigment were diversified out for others so in generations to come, each glimpse of supernatural ink upon sepia skin brought a paroxysm of fear. Behind each marking was exemplar of messing with kismet, behind each marking was a reminiscence of bloodlust and castigation.

The beast of the night, he hunts his prey the moment the sun sinks into the depths of hell. An illumination of crimson bleeds through eyelids at the waning amber sky, his form comes alive. He graced immortals and mortals alike with promises of destruction and suffering, tamed only by streaks of golden sunlight and the heat of fire. A massacre is left in the wake of those who dare utter his name in disrespect, the name of his immortal kin and the practise of witchcraft in tasteless fashion. The foolish and arrogant are left smitten from their pedestal and shattered under his imploding reign.

For what is Latrell Corvus, the perennial body of Hecate, without a sagacity of demolition and death?

And who is Caius Volturi, the vampiric king, without bitter tainted love for the reincarnated God?


End file.
